In Which The Hour Is Nigh
by DoubleDecks
Summary: Haddock/Tintin SLASH - Tintin wants it. Haddock wants it. They both know the other wants it. But there's a *minor* issue. Yes, that is a pun. Warnings: very mild implied underage


**IN WHICH THE HOUR IS NIGH**

* * *

****The grandfather clock in the study was of the traditional variety. The Westminster Quarters chimed every fifteen minutes; and though the entire household had become accustomed to this phenomenon by now, tonight it made Archibald Haddock leap to attention as if someone had just lit a very large fire beneath him.

"Captain," Tintin said firmly at once, and Haddock could discern a hint of strain in the boy's chastising but nonetheless glanced at the clock as he struggled to right the chair he had knocked asunder in his overzealousness.

When he had finally returned all four of its clawed feet firmly to the floor he settled back down and stared intently at the young reporter, who took a deep breath, leaning to one side of his own chair awkwardly. The cherrywood was smooth but he could nonetheless feel the elaborate carvings digging into his arm.

The Captain straightened his hat.

"So, ah..." his gravelly voice rumbled, about a register lower than it usually was.

"Yes, so," Tintin replied cordially, his own voice as flighty and callow as it has always been, though with that hint of maturity that ever lingered beneath.

"Tintin-"

"Don't," the boy said with great care, taking another breath and holding it for a moment before pushing it out.

"Right, lad."

It had been a long two years.

Twenty-four months of silence that had grown pregnant with expectation.

Seven-hundred and twenty days of research done behind closed doors and secret calendars that had been marked every day and placed into bottom drawers nightly.

17,280 hours of wholesome, chivalrous behavior had dragged by - and of near-incidents as well; for there had been several times when the Captain had been a little too close, a little too lingering in his touch, a little too forward in his compliments; when the shopkeepers and the hotel clerks shot them suspicious glances and Tintin would feel his face get hot and his stomach go aflutter as he paid them, a sense of soft and delicious shame shrouding him that was as potent as if what they all suspected was actually occurring.

Roughly 1/6th of those hours had been filled with seemingly harmless breakfast talk; though it had been growing increasingly suggestive as the Professor was near-deaf and tensions had been starting to run high:

_"Pass the jelly, won't you, Captain?"  
"You like jelly on your pancakes too then, don't you?"  
"I like jelly on a lot of things."  
"Your rolls, as well?"_  
_  
"Mmm," _Tintin would hum languidly, nipping a spot of it off his thumb and scrunching his mouth into a small keen line, eyes directed toward the Captain's and livened with seemingly angelic cheer. That was the way of things, and once they'd gotten a conversation like this snowballing it was near impossible to stop them until they had pushed the envelope so far they were forced to separate and preoccupy themselves with other endeavours.

Two years.

_"I've a matter to discuss with you," _Tintin had told him one week previous to this moment, _"And I'm willing to bet you've one to discuss with me as well."_

"Aye," the Captain had said.

_"You're well aware of what this coming Tuesday is," _Tintin had told him. _"At least, I surely hope you are. Because I am."_

_"I'm aware," _the Captain had said, and the seriousness of his gaze was all the proof Tintin needed.

_"And I think this matter would be best discussed in the study, at midnight on Tuesday," _Tintin had told him, and the Captain had run a finger across his own hairy jaw, nodding in agreement.

Haddock looked to the clock once more, wringing his hands. He watched closely two minutes pass, and it seemed longer than those past two years put together.

He glanced back at the redhead and found his face a great deal rosier than it had been two minutes ago. The boy was clutching the armrests of his seat as if gravity would fail him at any moment, staring at the fireplace tersely.

The Captain wanted nothing more than to end their shared predicament now.

"Can't I just tell you -"

"No," Tintin said - _commanded_, really - and his word was god, for it came from a magical land of morality and innocence that could and would not be broken, not by villain nor friend, not by thirteen minutes, not by anyone.

"Okay," the Captain uttered in resignation, adjusting his hat once more, though it didn't need adjusting; then righting his jacket, then clasping his hands back together on his lap. He watched Tintin rub his abused elbows and do the same, threading his fingers together over his crossed knee.

One minute passed.

And another.

The longer hand settled on the ornate golden number ten.

Haddock began to hum '99 bottles of beer' to himself, and Tintin told him to cut it out and that it wasn't helping.

"It's already tomorrow in Mumbai," Haddock offered, and lines appeared on the youth's forehead.

"We aren't in Mumbai are we, Captain."

"Okay, okay." Haddock said, "You're right."

Another minute passed.

Tintin rolled up his sleeves. "Hot in here," he half-whispered, and tapped on the lion's profile carved at the end of the armrest disinterestedly as if waiting to see a doctor.

He rose.

Haddock jumped from his chair for a second time as Tintin whipped a book from one of the nearby shelves, holding it out before him hastily like a shield. "Just getting something to read!" he said. "Just...to read." He walked back to his side of the study carefully, arms still extended as if in the sights of a firing squad, though a smirk of affectionate amusement was crossing his face.

Another minute passed.

And another.

And another.

Three minutes already! Haddock was pleased to note that watching someone read did in fact help the time pass quickly; though he couldn't see in this particular situation why that would be, as Tintin had been reading the same page for all three of those minutes.

"How goes it all?" Haddock piped up after what seemed like ages.

"I'm sorry?"

The Captain tipped his head to the book.

"Oh. I uh - well, they are getting ready to, that is -" Tintin flipped a few pages. "The king - they're going on a journey and -" He turned the entire book over. "This is a...trigonometry textbook, okay." He threw it on the floor carelessly with a loud thud.

The quiet ticking of the clock was starting to grind significantly on Haddock's nerves.

"Tis a bit stuffy," he agreed, removing his jacket.

"Quite..." Tintin ran his hand through his quiff, almost looking pained as he stared back at the clock above the fireplace. After a minute passed he carefully reached down and unlaced his shoes, slipping them off. Haddock watched him with great interest; when he caught the youth's eye Tintin coughed and loosened his collar, placing them neatly on the hearth with their laces tucked inside.

It was three until midnight. Both sets of eyes were on the clock now.

Three minutes.

Two minutes.

One.

They were on the edge of their respective cushions during the last thirty seconds of their seemingly infinite wait, and when the clock struck twelve, "_I've always_-" were the only words that managed to escape the Captain before the boy threw himself at him.

They met in a sloppy unpracticed kiss; teeth and frenzied grabbing hands and ragged breaths - and Tintin cried out worriedly as the Captain lifted him up off the floor altogether, whisking him out of the study and into the hallway. Tintin slipped from his grasp and the two shuffled down the corridor together; hugging, nipping, gripping, tripping before they reached Tintin's bedroom and Haddock hoisted him onto the duvet, removing his own sweater. The ginger beamed at what he beheld.

The Captain tugged him this way and that; and while in the grand scheme of things he was not actually getting anything of consequence done by doing so the mere contact alone and the forcefulness with which he manipulated Tintin's body excited the reporter beyond belief. He yelped again as the older man relocated him, this time onto his desk, only to be swept up in another kiss. Papers and folders slipped from beneath him and were scattered; a glass paperweight with a Buddha encased inside went crashing to the floor, a large chunk of it chipping off and flying under the vanity.

"_We'll have holiday in Tibet again_," Tintin gasped breathlessly, collecting the man's bearded face in his trembling hands when the seaman faltered, "_A real one this time, we'll go-_" He captured the Haddock's lips once more before he could finish his sentence and moaned as he was pushed further back, this time into the inkwell. "Thundering - _barnacles_! Octopai-!" Haddock muttered against the lad's lips as he reached to alleviate the black puddle that was threatening to encroach upon their space but the redhead was now constricting him like a boa, whispering a myriad of filthy things into the Captain's ear that put even a seasoned sailor's colorful vocabulary to shame. It made Haddock's blood rush to his groin and his eyes rolled up as he felt himself pulsate against the lad's leg.

"_Blistering-_!" he lost his footing and Tintin tipped onto him, both of them collapsing back onto the bed. The reporter appeared to be confused for a moment, eyes darting across his partner's body in aroused malaise before he decided to pin the Captain down by the shoulders firmly, placing little love bites along his jaw, his neck, his collarbone.

"You haven't the slightest idea how difficult it's been not to just_-_" he whimpered against Haddock's throat. "To just_...crumbs_, if I hadn't been so concerned for your reputation I _might've - just -_"

Tintin unbuttoned the Captain's trousers and wasted no time in unsheathing him. Haddock groaned heartily in response, his large hands creeping up the lad's sweater.

"_Goodness_," the boy breathed, setting to work with what Haddock thought to be a very practiced palm, and he shot the lad a playfully suspicious look, to which Tintin replied matter-of-factly,

"Once I discovered you don't actually go blind I may have gotten a bit carried away with myself on occasion."

He flashed a charming smile that made Haddock's erection quiver restlessly.

"In fact I can see as well as ever," the lad affirmed as his eyes drifted down to the Captain's engorged sex, which had grown considerably under his attention. "Perhaps I see _too _well," he marvelled, mouth slightly agape. After a moment of thought he looked back into Haddock's face, eyes darkening.

"Captain, your cock...is positively _frightening_," he said, though this little detail did not stop him from plunging it directly into his mouth.

"_HNNG-_!," Haddock roared, and though he had successfully suppressed the urge to buck his hips, Tintin nonetheless gagged in his own steadfastness, drawing back in shock and daintily seeing a string of wayward saliva back onto his tongue. "Great _snakes_!"

"Oh, cripes, laddie, you don't have t-" Captain braced his hands on the boy's torso to keep him from having another go, but it was of no use. If there was one thing he knew about Tintin, it was that he never gave in; and the ginger easily wriggled from his grip, smacking Haddock's hand away and gobbling his length back up.

"Tintin-!" Haddock felt the back of the reporter's mouth brush his head and it felt just heavenly - he realized just how hard he was puffing in the brief moment the boy paused before pushing forward, brow twisted in concentration.

At once he saw the muscles in the lad's neck jump again, heard him choke; and he rose to his elbows, ready to wriggle away again and perhaps suggest they embark on this adventure another time, but Tintin's fingernails dug into the Captain's sturdy thighs through his trousers and he raised a single finger up, as if to say, _Just wait. Trust me._

The Captain did wait, with baited breath. Slowly, surely, he felt himself slipping further into Tintin's throat. Tintin huffed, something between a laugh and a scoff of disbelieving triumph as he took his Captain in, eyes falling shut and brows now arching deviously; and he exhaled through his nose like a dragon, reaching for the Captain's chest and gripping the hair there it as if it were a ledge and he was hanging for his life.

The sentiment evoked a series of memories in the Captain's mind, many from their travels. He recalled bits at random, here and there - "_Captain!_" Tintin had called to him from beneath a cliff in the middle of San Theodoros, and the most beautiful smile had appeared on his face before Haddock had even gathered the rope in his strong arms and pulled the lad to safety. "_Come quickly!_" he had shouted, dragging him away from what he had thought to be a rather alluring flamenco number in a pub in Syldavia; and he would never be able to forget the vague, demonizing expression on the reporter's cute freckled face when he protested.

He saw mirrored in youth's expression even now as he worked the same kind of desperation he had when struggling to solve a mystery, and it made him feel treasured. Tintin's small nose made contact with his abdomen and the boy's large grey eyes fluttered open to peer at Haddock's from beyond a patch of thick black hair.

The Captain's heart sung.

"Tintin..." he whispered, and he hissed when he felt the lad's throat constrict around his cock. The boy hummed lightly, releasing the older man's chest hair only to wind his fingers back into it again, his entire body slithering as his head bobbed in a slow rocking motion. There wasn't much room for him to move, Haddock's erection was so maddeningly large, and though a tear of exertion came to Tintin's eye he was completely relishing in the Captain's size without apology or fear. It was a deliberate and seductive maneuver; it contrasted the lad's usual excitable and spritely movements so much and this alone caused waves of glowing arousal to gather in the pit of the Captain's stomach. He watched Tintin's eyes close once more; observed in awe that perfect, handsome, upstanding face reduced to base wantonness; saw in the distance his still black sock-clad ankles crossed and bobbing in the air almost carelessly as stretched lips grasped again and again his base as if by some vicious instinct to keep the Captain's cock deep within himself.

Haddock reached a hand up and brushed a bead of sweat off of the boy's forehead with his finger; the tear off his cheek with his thumb - and he gritted his teeth when the boy responded by wedging his hot tongue into the scant space below his shaft, enclosing the Captain on all sides with his soft wet palate.

"Tintin-! _T- I'm-gonna-!_"

The warmth in his belly exploded but the reporter only pressed his own body harder against the man's legs, keeping him in place as his throat filled quickly with the Captain's seed. Spasms of intense pleasure vibrating through every muscle of his pelvis and legs, Haddock heard Tintin whine helplessly and watched the ginger's eyes dart to the side in panic as the torrent of semen poured from the sides of his mouth - his expression returned to one of stubborn resolve as he pulled back, milking the last of the Captain's orgasm with a single slippery hand even as the cum dribbled from his lips onto his blue pullover, and he ceased only when Haddock collapsed entirely, as spent as he'd ever felt.

The clock by the bed shown 12:15.

"I'm not tired, are you tired?" Tintin said in an instant, swallowing and wiping his chin fastidiously with the collar of his undershirt. He broke into a sympathetic smile as the Captain licked his lips and stared off into space, trying to gather his bearings.

"Seven million seas of saucy spitfire, give me a minute, will you? Or twenty."

- - -

There were birds chirping outside the window.

"Master Haddock? Are you awake?" there was a knock at the door.

The Captain forced his heavy eyelids open. "I am now," he yawned. "Come - _wwauhgh_, come in."

Nestor only stepped a few feet into the room, not bothering to close the door behind him.

"I noticed Master Tintin's cake had been left on the dining room table untouched, I took the liberty of storing it in the icebox. Would you care to take it with your breakfast?"

"That sounds just grand," Haddock said warmly. "What is for breakfast, anyway?"

"Bacon and eggs benedict. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Nope, that will be all, Nestor."

"I expect it will be done in fifteen minutes," the butler said before leaving.

Haddock breathed in the crisp, fresh air. What a fine morning to be alive.

Where was Tintin, anyway?

He froze when he saw a creamy, freckled arm out of the corner of his eye; he realized with a mixture of horror and embarrassment that Tintin had in fact been lying naked under the covers beside him this entire time, clutching him possessively. The redhead was sleeping peacefully, lips slightly parted and cheek wedged almost comically up against a pillow that had been folded in half, and Haddock's mind raced madly for a moment before he realized that the butler really hadn't seemed to mind - in fact, if he had to put his finger on it, Nestor appeared almost...smitten? Moved? Well, about as smitten or moved as Nestor could manage, and Archibald was convinced at this point he was the only person who could discern any sort of emotional investment in the man.

"Mm-whh..." he felt the lad beside him stir. Tintin abruptly sat up, easily detaching himself from Haddock with a disoriented expression. His quiff was a magnificent sight to behold, going in probably about eighty different directions.

"How are you feeling, old man," Haddock asked him with a chuckle, and Tintin's eyes narrowed.

"I'm..." his eyebrows lifted lazily and he yawned, rubbing his palm into one of his eyes. "Sore. Very sore."

He turned to the Captain with a coy smile. "_Very_ sore," he affirmed, suddenly collapsing back into the sheets and hugging Haddock's chest again. "_Very, very, very_..." the words trailed off dreamily as he breathed in the scent of the older man's beard. "..._très bon_," he concluded, sighing in contentment.

Haddock planted a kiss on his forehead. "Happy eighteenth, lad," he uttered, and a sound of distress left the boy as the Captain slipped out of his arms and put on his pajamas and dressing gown.

"Where are you going?"

"Well, no use wasting the day, is there? You're officially an adult now in the eyes of the law, you know what that means."

"Mwhat?" Tintin was resting his head back on the smashed pillow and had returned to looking like he had just woken up a second time.

"You get to eat cake for breakfast, and no one can tell you otherwise."


End file.
